Woes of the Infernally Wed
by FancyFreeThinker101
Summary: Because nobody said life with Gwendolyn Sharp would be easy. Second attempt at a sequel to Woes of the Eternally Bored. Bernard/OC. T for now; rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

"AN: Hello! It's been a while! About 2 years ago, I tried, with disastrous results, to write a sequel to my little fanfiction "The Woes of the Eternally Bored." Many people were kind enough to review it. Lately, however, I've had an idea-to try the sequel again, this time with quite a different plot than what I'd originally intended. So, here we are. As you'll no doubt see, the first few chapters are very similar to the ones I wrote before, but after that there's going to be a definite shift. Anyway, hope you like it, and please do review; I can't get better if you don't!

The Woes of the Infernally Wed

Of course, living with Gwendolyn Sharp was not for the faint of heart.

Like Ignatius Reilly, her being was multi-faceted; there were so many different aspects to the domestic horror that was sharing an apartment with the Sharp chit.

One could always start, of course, with the mundane aspect: that made up of the every day experiences, of her sweaters on the floor ("Sharp, for God's sake, try and _pretend_ to have a little common delicacy") and her hairbrush turning up in unexpected places and the hideous yellow tea cups she bought from the thrift store.

There was the horrible feminine things in my bathroom—who knew even a ragamuffin like Sharp had girlish clutter?—the not infrequent smell of something burning while she "cooked" (if one could call it that). The alarming alterations she'd made to my tiny apartment: the bright new curtains, the colorful dishes, the occasional mug of was the routine of it all: I would wake up. and she would be half-dressed, one leg in her jeans as she stooped to kiss me good morning (Sharp was indubitably a morning person) and then scampered off to the kitchen to scrounge up a bagel for morning sustenance. I would dress, make coffee (Sharp's efforts to encourage me to eat breakfast were in vain), and leave for work. After a day of stultifying boredom, I would return, and she'd already be there, singing along to the radio as she tried (to the best of her negligible abilities) to make dinner. Dinner would happen, and I would read—or try to. Gwendolyn was never one to allow a man too much free time.

"Bernard," she would say, musingly, stretching herself (uninvited, of course) across the sofa with her head in my lap. "I was thinking…"

"Stop the presses," I'd murmur, rolling my eyes and determinedly turning the page of my book. Gwendolyn pinched my leg.

"Don't be a grouch. I was just thinking that if we ever have kids, I want them to have your hair."

I sighed—flushed—didn't look at her.

"We're not having children, so the point is moot."

"But if we did," she persisted, grinning now. (The minx was always so quick to see when she'd discomposed me.) "Just hypothetically. I want at least one to have your hair. You know, all rumpled and perfect and sticky-uppy in the back. Oh, and maybe your voice." She pulled that deadpan face that she'd deluded herself into thinking resembled me and said in a drab monotone:

"Goodnight, Mother."

I kept my mouth very straight; it was, for a moment, almost difficult.

"When are you going to grow up?"

Then there was the emotional aspect—because living with another person was…difficult to become accustomed to. I had never once in my life slept in the same bed with another human being; it was thus difficult, those first few nights, to even get into bed without wild discomfort.

"I suppose you'll want some space when you sleep," she murmured one night early into the marriage. I shifted a shoulder.

"Most probably."

"Mmm," she murmured, somewhat disappointed. "Oh, well. I guess I'll just have to make the most of the time I have."

And she grinned and slipped her arms around my waist until she turned out the lamp.

Yet I did not sleep as well as I'd thought. Though Gwendolyn kept her word and stayed on the other side of the bed, something was amiss.

A few restless nights later, I determined the source of this feeling; it was apprehension.

Some inane, mortifying part of me wanted to be able to feel her, to make sure that she was there.

So when, slipping into bed the next night, she murmured:

"You still want some space?", I could do nothing to stop the curt, reluctant "no." Sharp, oddly enough, made no comment on this sudden change of mind and just curled against me, head on my shoulder.

"You've been tossing and turning the last few nights," she said. "Everything okay?"

I shrugged. Her hair was all over the pillow, and the vanilla scent of it was oddly calming.

"Of course. It's a wonderful life."

She rolled her eyes at me.

"Just making sure. Grouch."

But later that night, when I found myself mumbling her name, she wound both arms around my neck and stroked her fingers along my hairline, whispering.

"Bernard," she murmured. "Bernard, it's alright, okay? It's alright. Shhhhhh."

"Gwen…don't leave," I muttered. "Don't leave."

She burrowed into me, nuzzling my neck and still slowly stroking my hair.

"I won't," she promised. "I won't. Go back to sleep."

And I was the closest I'd ever been to grateful when the minx didn't say a word about it the next morning.

-88888

Then, of course, there was the more—ahem—carnal aspect. The one that involved Sharp and a pronounced lack of clothing…

Her favorite method of attack was that of waiting for me when I got out of the shower, sitting on the stove or the counter or some other article of furniture unsuited to the purpose wearing only a tee shirt, legs dangling over the edge.

"Hullo, Bernard," she'd say. "Help me out of this shirt, would you?"

She was also not above watching me as I dressed in the morning, chewing lightly on her bottom lip and ignoring my caustic remarks about the degenerate state of women these days.

"Oh, be quiet," she laughed one day, as I was pulling on my blazer. "I've seen you gawking while I change. Don't even start."

My face warmed alarmingly from the neck up.

"I certainly was not—"

"Oh, no, not you," said Sharp, wrinkling her nose at me. "Perish the thought."

And I had to be content with giving her a withering look—which she took unblushingly—before turning back to finish dressing.

-8888

We'd been married—oh, the odium of the phrase—for about 6 months when Gwendolyn broached the subject.

"Bernard?" she murmured, traipsing into the den in only a pair of old jeans. I looked up, blushed, swallowed, and frowned all in the space of a few seconds.

"Please clothe yourself."

She laughed.

"Oh, don't be such a stick. I wouldn't complain if _you_ walked around without a shirt."

"In this case, you want more than a shirt."

Gwendolyn stuck out her tongue (puerile minx), perching on my knee and winding her arms around my neck.

"You don't seem to mind terribly," she smiled, rightly interpreting the hitch in my breath at her bare nearness. I narrowed my eyes.

"Did you have a purpose in barging in here, Gwendolyn, or did you just come in to disturb the peace?"

She chuckled, wriggling closer to me.

"Bit of both, I think. I do have a question, though; I don't think you'll like it very much."

I was careful to keep my expression stony.

"Ah."

This was a promising start.

"Bernard," began Sharp, now looking rather solemn and fiddling with my lapels. "I-I was just thinking…when am I going to-to meet your family?"

The blood left my face at an alarming rate; I took care not to look at her.

 _Not that. Anything but that._

"Never, preferably."

She bit her lip, looking at me in that funny, bothered, thoughtful way of hers. Her brows drew together.

"But…Bernard…I just think…."

"Sharp."

Even Gwendolyn Sharp knew when persistence was futile. She sighed, dropping the subject.

"Alright. Sorry. But, look here," starting to smile again (it was never long with her.) "Finish what you're doing and get ready. We're having dinner with my parents tonight, remember?"

I heaved a deep sigh; dinner with the Sharp progenitors was never high on my list of 'tolerable pastimes.'

"I do seem to recall something along those lines."

"Well, keep it in mind and get dressed; we've got to leave in about an hour, alright?"

And she swung herself jauntily off of my lap, pausing by the doorframe.

"Oh, and Bernard?"

I looked up at her with a half-hearted reluctance; sometimes it was rather more difficult than I liked to admit to be truly annoyed by Gwendolyn.

"What?"

She grinned: the full, 100-watt, sunshiny affair.

"I love you, you dork."


	2. Chapter 2

That evening, as we were on the road, Sharp attempted to lay down the law.

"Bernard," she said at once, turning an eye that attempted to be stern on me. "I'd better not catch you reading under the table tonight, alright? This only happens once or twice every couple months; just be _nice_."

I kept my face blank; damn it. I'd been hoping to sneak a book past her to lighten the tedium of a Sharp family dinner.

"I'm always nice."

"Well, be nicer," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. I tried to look annoyed.

"Please don't distract me while I'm driving."

She snickered.

"You didn't seem to mind a couple weeks ago at that stop light."

I carefully kept my eyes on the road; in interactions with Sharp, it was fatal to show emotion.

(Damn the heat crawling up my neck.)

"I don't recall you giving me a chance to voice my complaints."

Sharp laughed again, her hand wandering—my posture stiffened—onto my knee.

"Touché."

I pulled into the driveway, and Sharp slipped her arms around my waist as walked to the door.

"Be. Nice."

I rolled my eyes; already I could hear the much-ado of the Sharp mother.

"Oh, how wonderful! George, honey, I think Gwen and Bernard are here!"

And then the door was opened, and there was Mother Sharp, fussing over us ("Gwen, you look so _thin_!") and pulling us (rather forcibly, in my case) inside and seating us at the table. Mr. Sharp, a tall, thin, balding man with an absent expression, smiled at us from the table.

"Ah. Hullo, Gwen. Bernard. So nice to see you both."

And then he returned to his book; I found myself struck with a pang of savage envy.

Gwendolyn grinned.

"Hey, Dad. Mum wants to give us the old 'where's-my-grandbabies' talk, I presume?"

Mr. Sharp chuckled.

"Something like that, I think."

And then, turning to me:

"I hope you're ready, Bernard."

I opened my mouth to make the typically cutting reply—only to be silenced when Gwendolyn quickly pinched me. Her face was dangerous.

 _Be nice._

I contented myself with a brief affirmative.

"Alright, everything's ready!" called Mrs. Evelyn Sharp, bustling into the kitchen distractedly. "Gwen, sweetheart, how _are_ you?"

"Oh, great, we've started—"

"Tell me: _when_ are you going to move out of that little apartment?"

Ah, here we were. The Sharp mother had two favorite topics of conversation: her upcoming grandchildren and new housing for her daughter. I sighed rather audibly. Gwendolyn shot me a look.

"I dunno, Mum; we haven't really thought of it yet."

"Well, Gwen dear, you really _should_! Heaven knows you'll need all the room you can get when you—"

I nearly choked on my soup; good God. Surely it was too early in the meal for this.

"Mum, Bernard and I don't even know if we're _having_ children yet. It'd be a bit silly to buy a big old house just on the off chance that we might have kids."

"Oh, don't be silly, Gwen, of course you'll have kids! Darling, I know—" as her daughter made as if to protest. "I know every couple has a little uncertainty at first, and that's perfectly natural—but Gwen, sweetheart, children are _such_ a blessing. Bernard, what do you think? Wouldn't a child be nice?"

I looked directly into her eyes for a moment and said in a blank voice:

"I hate children."

There was a brief silence; Gwendolyn quickly lowered her eyes to her food, mouth twitching. Mrs. Sharp was doing her best to recover.

"O…oh."

Mr. Sharp smiled at me.

"Well, now, Bernard—from what Gwen tells me, you and little Marianne get along very well. She's told me that the two of you have bonded over chess."

Oh, for God's sake; Sharp had really been laying it on thick.

"I have watched on occasion whilst Gwendolyn and her mother were elsewhere, if that's to what you refer."

He merely smiled; like his daughter, he had the frustrating gift of not picking up on incivility.

"She said you're quite the player, Bernard. She seemed quite taken with you last time Felicity visited."

I rolled my eyes and tried to keep my expression stony; more than likely this was just a device to discompose me. Relations between me and the Sharp niece were hardly even cordial.

"Oh, yes," grinned Sharp, mischief in her eyes. "Bernard and Marianne are great friends. He's just too modest to admit it."

I shot her a brief glance; she just grinned harder.

"So, Bernard," Mrs. Sharp chirped, obviously keen to fill the brief silence that had descended. "Tell us about your family."

Clink.

Gwendolyn's spoon clattered onto her bowl; all the color drained from her face. I worked to keep my face perfectly motionless.

Mrs. Sharp, idiot woman, was obviously wondering what she'd said.

"Uh, Mum," Gwen's voice was tightly cheerful. "Bernard um….doesn't really um…see much of his family."

"Oh!" fluttered Mrs. Sharp, swiftly reddening. "I…I see. How stupid of me."

And dinner passed with admirable quiet after that.

-8888

Somehow, the Sharp mother caught me on the way out.

"Bernard," she said, flushed and not looking at me. "I…I…come here for a moment. I-I need to talk to you."

I caught Gwendolyn's eye; she smiled helplessly, grimacing a little as if to say that there was nothing she could do.

It appeared that I would have to grin and bear it.

"Alright."

And I allowed her to steer me into the hall; still not looking at me and rocking slightly (she was uncannily similar to her daughter when discomposed), she started, haltingly:

"Bernard, I….I just wanted to say that…if things become….difficult, and you need someone to talk to…."

Oh, God. Just what I needed. More pity.

"I'm fine."

"Alright," mumbled my mother-in-law, leaning in to subject me to a brief, awkward hug. "I-I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"Indeed."

I'd never been more grateful to find the car.

===888888

On the way home, Gwendolyn gently touched my arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice much softer than it usually was. I was careful to keep my face blank.

"Why?"

She frowned.

"Because—because of what happened."

I sighed. Trust Sharp to always drag the elephant into the room.

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I really am sorry—I had no idea that was going to happen."

And then, when I merely shrugged and let my arm find her waist:

"She is right, though; we do need to think about moving out of that apartment."

"We're not producing offspring."

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes at me.

"Yes, yes. I didn't mean THAT. I just meant that it's cramped as hell, even for two people. Not to mention rent. I just think it'd be better in the long run to buy a little house somewhere, you know?"

I shrugged; I really did not know. Despite Sharp's points about the economic advisability, there was something disgustingly bourgeois about owning a "house": something happy and family-ish which I despised.

"Not really."

And then, sighing again:

"Can we talk about all of this tomorrow, Sharp? Your mother has drained me of what little life-blood I had."

She smiled, leaning into me and kissing me under the jaw.

"Sure, Bernard. Tomorrow, then."

So the matter was (briefly) settled.


End file.
